Identity Crisis
by AutumnMTC
Summary: At times, it seems like Arthur knows Ariadne better than she knows herself. (A series of interconnected oneshots.)


Ariadne was starting to lose her temper.

Millions of things had gone wrong that day, it seemed. The models she had been working on weren't turning out like she'd planned, and her supply of foam was running dangerously low from all the mistakes. To top it off, she'd stabbed her hand at least three times with her x-acto knife within the last few hours. Her stomach protested loudly, reminding her of one more thing she'd forgotten to do that day: eat breakfast. She'd been forced to skip it that morning thanks to Arthur's habit of being excessively punctual every time he picked her up for work. Groaning, she leaned forward and set her forehead on the table, banging it against the surface a few times. It didn't help.

"Could this day get any worse?" Ariadne muttered. She rubbed her temples with her fingers—another headache had settled behind her eyes. Third one of the week.

Visions of warm beds and a full night of sleep clouded her mind. She sighed wistfully. There was no way she'd see a full eight hours of sleep tonight, much less the rest of the month. The Fischer job was set to go down in three weeks and she hadn't even drawn up the blueprints for the final maze, much less built the models and walked the team through them. The countdown to their flight was starting to get to everyone in the warehouse. Dom was dreaming more and sleeping less, Eames practically lived in front of the mirror to perfect his gestures and other nuances, and Yusuf had actually thrown a botched serum out of the window in a blind rage a couple days before. The only person who didn't seem to notice the impending date was Arthur, who merely sat at his computer all day and did research. The only interaction she ever had with him outside of dreaming was in the morning when he passed out files full of information they needed to memorize before the flight. No matter what complication arose, Arthur always seemed to be the picture of composure. Ariadne wondered how he managed to stay so calm all the time.

Scooting her chair out and standing up, Ariadne stretched her arms above her head and yawned widely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for more than four hours at a time. Across the warehouse floor, Arthur was typing away at his computer, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Eames was still standing in front of the full-length mirror leaned against the wall, cursing loudly every time he messed up one of his moves. Yusuf simply sat on the floor in exhaustion, face buried in his hands and muttering about proper dosages. The only team member not accounted for was Dom, who was probably dreaming again in the back room of the warehouse. Making up her mind, Ariadne walked across the warehouse atrium toward the room where the PASIV and the lawn chairs were always kept. She wanted to see if Dom needed any help in his dream. At the very least, it would make her feel ten times more useful. If he was already under, she might try joining him to check his grip on reality. She was getting really worried about his ability to differentiate. As soon as she had walked through the doorway to the back, though, she heard a frustrated sound come from Eames in the other room. Curiosity getting the best of her, Ariadne stopped in her tracks and hovered just inside the darkened hallway to eavesdrop.

"All right," Eames spat, irritation obvious. "If I have to put this pair of glasses in my pocket _one more time_ , I'm going to go mental."

"Practice something else, then," Arthur murmured. He didn't sound too interested.

Ariadne peered around the edge of the doorway. She didn't want to get caught eavesdropping, but she loved learning more about the men she worked with. They were always so reserved around her because she was new. She took any opportunity she could to find out more about them, even if it meant spying.

"Excellent advice, Arthur," Eames drawled, the sarcasm clear in his tone. "Here's some advice for you: why don't you take your bloody research and shove it up your—"

"Guys, come on," Yusuf begged, watching the exchange. "Could you not pick a fight for once? We're all stressed out about the job. Eames, why don't you run and get some coffee? You know, to relax."

Eames glared down at Arthur with disdain. "Anything to get me out of this place. What would you like, Yusuf?" It was very obvious that Eames had no intention of getting Arthur any coffee.

For a split second, Arthur's fingers stopped typing. His eyes were narrowed and his shoulders were tense. However, he quickly resumed typing and stayed silent. Irritation poured off of him in waves that Ariadne could feel from her hiding spot.

"A latte, if you would," Yusuf answered, looking relieved that his suggestion had diffused some of the tension.

"All right," Eames said, nodding. For the first time, he seemed to notice that Ariadne's desk was empty. He frowned. "Did anyone see where Ariadne went? I ought to ask her what she'd like since I'm going out."

Ariadne's stomach flipped at the mention of her name. She retreated backwards into the shadows of the small room, hoping Eames wouldn't come looking for her to find her spying. Before she got too far, though, Arthur's voice stopped her.

"She's dreaming in the back. Don't disturb her."

Eames rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "All right, genius. What's she going to like, then? I don't want to come back with nothing for her."

"You could always wait a few minutes and go when she's done," Yusuf suggested.

"If I stay here one second longer, I'm going remove the stick up Arthur's arse and beat him to death with it. Do either of you chaps know what kind of coffee she prefers?

Ariadne longed to emerge from her hiding place and tell Eames her favorite drink but fought the urge. She had to stay hidden. She didn't like to think of herself as a picky eater, but her mom always begged to differ whenever she was home. Ariadne braced herself for horrible suggestions.

"Maybe she likes those really sweet drinks. I see girls getting those all the time," Yusuf guessed, pushing his glasses up his nose. Ariadne cringed at the suggestion. _Over my dead body._

"What, you make a habit of watching girls in coffee shops?"

"No, that's not what I—" Yusuf started. He paused for a brief moment before throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oh, never mind. Kill each other, see if I care. Just stay quiet about it." He went back to doing his experiments.

"She just doesn't strike me as a woman with a sweet tooth," Eames mutters, thinking hard of an alternate choice. _Oh, thank God,_ Ariadne thought, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Eames (obviously still upset) begrudgingly turned to Arthur, lifting an eyebrow in silent question. "Any ideas?"

Arthur kept quiet for a few minutes to organize his thoughts. Then he spoke.

"She likes hot tea," he said, using a tone so soft that she had to strain to hear him. "Herbal tea—she doesn't drink caffeine anymore because it gives her headaches. If you're worried about the kind to get, just bring her a cup of hot water. She always has a stash of lotus flower tea bags in her pocket."

Ariadne swore she could have heard a pin drop in the warehouse.

The silence was so loud that it was almost deafening. Yusuf had frozen at his desk, glass beaker in his hand halfway tipped over to be poured. He was too shocked to even turn around. Eames, on the other hand, simply stared slack-jawed down at Arthur with a horrified expression. Ariadne herself had covered her mouth with both hands to keep from gasping. How did he know that she never drank caffeine? She had never told anyone about the splitting headaches she always developed when she drank coffee, no matter the amount. No one. Not even her parents. Christ, was he _stalking_ her? A million thoughts flew through Ariadne's mind as she stayed hidden in the shadows, watching Eames search for the proper words to say. He looked even more surprised than she felt.

"I can't—I mean, how would you even—Jesus Christ, Arthur, how do you know all of that?" Eames stammered, coffee errand forgotten.

Yusuf whirled around and pointed an accusatory glass test tube at Eames. The safety goggles over his glasses made him look like a bug, Ariadne thought. "And you thought I was creepy!"

"You're off the hook," Eames said to Yusuf, gesturing dismissively in his direction. He turned his attentions back to Arthur and crossed his arms, scowling. "You, on the other hand, have some explaining to do. Do you have some kind of scary crush on the poor girl? Or are you stalking her just for fun?

Arthur's ears turned a faint shade of pink. He didn't look up from his computer screen but had stopped typing. His fingers seemed frozen above the keys, twitching ever so slightly. Coldly, he replied, "It's my job to know things about the team."

"It's your job to know our past addresses and whether or not we've been a part of some bloody terrorist group before! It's not your job to know her favorite tea or shampoo of choice."

"I've always been observant," Arthur shot back. "There's always a cup of tea on her desk when she's working. Excuse me for paying a bit of attention to our surroundings."

"If you've been _that_ obnoxiously observant with all of us, I'd like to know about it."

Arthur stood up from his desk sharply, turning toward Eames with a look that chilled Ariadne to the bone. She decided that she didn't like his angry face. Not one bit.

Arthur's next words were hard to hear. "It's my job to know everything about her. Who she is, her likes and dislikes, what makes her tick. The mazes are designed by her, Eames. If she incorporates something into them, accidental or not, it's my job to know about it and eliminate those risks. Just because you're sick of doing your job doesn't mean I can't do mine. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, Arthur pushed past Eames and stormed off. Unfortunately, he was headed right toward Ariadne's hiding spot in the hallway. Silently cursing, Ariadne tiptoed back through the dark hallway and ducked into the back room. The light was dim but she could see Dom laid out on one of the lawn chairs, the telltale needle stuck into his wrist. Good, he wasn't awake. Half-crazed with panic over being caught, Ariadne reached for one of the other needles that were laid out and fumbled to stick herself. She missed her vein twice and blood began to well up at the base of her hand. _Come on, come on, come on!_ On the third attempt, Ariadne shoved the needle into the correct vein and collapsed in a chair next to Dom.

The drugs entered her system slowly—not nearly fast enough. In her rush, she had stuck herself at a bad angle. Ariadne flexed her hand in a sad attempt to hurry it along, but it didn't seem to work. She felt her toes slowly go numb and her eyelids became heavier. Regardless, she could hear the sound of Arthur's footsteps getting closer to her. _A little more, come on!_ The PASIV seemed to listen to her silent plea and her eyes drifted shut, the lids too heavy to be held open any longer. She was barely on the edge of consciousness when Arthur reached her side. He smelled like sandalwood, she realize blearily.

She felt the gentle pressure of the haphazardly-placed needle being adjusted in her wrist, his touch soft and sure against her tingly skin. In an instant, she felt her stomach drop as the PASIV took hold of the remnants of her consciousness. The powerful drugs coursed through her system and dragged her down into the murky depths of Dom's mind like a rip current that she didn't have the energy to fight. As she descended, she thought of Arthur.

 _Later,_ she resolved. _I'll ask questions later._

* * *

 **Let me know if you liked it.**


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